Summary: The Witcher is on the hunt hoping to confront his pursuer, but runs into the unexpected.
CHAPTER NINE
The Hunt
"Come on, dammit," Geralt grumbled with barely a whisper. He crouched near a bush refusing to swipe away a pesky branch from poking him in the ear. If he adjusted it, it would make noise and worse if it snapped. Another stick poked him on the outside of his thigh. He ignored it.
Glaring through the dried up rustic-colored leaves and withering white myrtle blossoms not yet surrendered to the autumn breeze, he concentrated his attention again on the small camp several yards away. It was quiet in the dark wee hours of the morning, save for the snapping of a small fire by which three men lounged. The fog still hovered over the ground and its snakelike tendrils wove its way through the camp. At least at this point, the rain took a break.
Several tankards and large carafes of alcohol littered the campsite. These men were nothing more than common brigands. Dressed in patched and filthy leather jerkins, these grubby bastards hid tucked away near the main road to Novigrad waiting to ambush unsuspecting travelers. Filthy swines.
He tuned out the rhythmic snoring of one man lounging against a tree trunk and focused on the other two carrying out a hushed conversation on the far side of the fire.
"Cursed rain," one brigand with a dark and full beard muttered. "Damned storm kept the travelers at bay for two blasted days."
The second man, younger and clean-shaven, tossed a couple sticks in the struggling flames. "Knew we shoulda tried to inter… interse…"
"Intercept, idiot."
"Right. We shoulda intercepted those two men a couple hours back."
"Boy, you really are an idiot. Those two flew past like the devil were on their heels. How did you supposed we were to intercept 'em, huh? Coulda tossed you out in front of them horses. That mighta slowed 'em down enough."
"Hey, no reason to be mean," the younger man grumbled.
Eavesdropping for about three quarters of an hour, all they discussed were nagging wives, their common distaste of the growing presence of non-humans in the city, and listless lovers, all during frequent urination and passing gas.
Geralt shook his head and swiped the blasted branch aside.
"Enough of this."
Emerging from the bush, he did not bother to creep across the road, but strode with purpose straight into the brigands' camp. Making eye contact with both men, he nodded politely, taking care not to appear threatening, although he was in no mood offering good manners to these thugs.
"Need any help? Lost by chance? You're not far from the city."
"Help?" The younger man looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. "What you think we need help with? And we 'ain't lost neither. No one gone by to-"
"Kind of you to offer, stranger," the older man interrupted shooting his companion a fierce glare that quieted him. "But, ah, no thanks."
"You guys alone out here?"
Bearded man made a show of glancing around. "Looks that way."
"Haven't seen anyone else snooping around here, have you?"
Silence. Two pairs of eyes narrowed sizing him up. Perhaps that question came a bit too soon.
"Just who the fuck are you?"
Crouching down before the fire, Geralt extended his hands near the flames, warming them. He offered a slight easy smile. "Just a traveler passing through-"
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Cintra," the young man drawled. Bearded man gave him an off-color look.
Peering at the younger bloke through narrowed lids, Geralt refrained from commenting. Although that remark was nothing more than pure coincidence, however, he kept up his guard.
The older man tossed a stick at the young man. "Have respect, man. Gods rest her soul." He returned his gaze to Geralt. "Look, stranger. Don't know what ya want or who ya really are, but by the look of ya, with your fine black armor and shiny hardware on your back, you are not 'just passing through.'" He reached for a sword propped nearby on a tree stump. His fingers closed around the hilt. "Me thinks you're here deliberately. If you are out to arrest us-"
"Relax, I'm not here for you."
The older man eyed him a minute longer before slowly withdrawing his fingers from the hilt, not quite convinced. He resumed his former casual slouch. "Good choice. Or we'd have to defend ourselves, you understand."
"Understood. But you don't have anything to fear from me unless you make the first move. You never answered my question. Seen anyone else around here?"
The older man tossed a small branch onto the smoking flames. "Looking for someone? Well, good luck. Ghost town here thanks to the storm."
He changed tactics. "Crying shame about the Queen of Cintra."
"Crying shame," bearded man shook his head. "The Lioness of Cintra will no longer hold up the north. And her poor Lion Cub. An even greater tragedy."
Geralt caught his breath and released it slow and steady, keeping his outward show casual and indifferent. Come on... continue. What about Ciri?
The young man shook his head, "Queen's dead, Pavetta's dead, and her daughter, what's her name? Sereena, Serna?"
Bearded man tossed a clump of grass at the young man. "Cirilla, dolt!"
Young man dodged the clump of flying earth, but the soil sprayed over him. He wiped it off and smeared dirt over his already grubby jerkin. "Right, Cirilla. Young girl. Too bad."
"She's disappeared. No one has seen her, apparently, but I think she's dead."
"It's likely," Geralt dared, keeping his tone straight and casual. "The odds are against her. A young girl alone with nowhere to go, no one to protect her, would not last long."
"Very true. Care for a drink, friend?" Bearded man offered a dark glass bottle with a long neck.
"Kind of you, but I best be on my way." Geralt stood, hesitating, daring one more question. "Say she disappeared. Anyone looking for her, you think?"
"Ah, who knows," bearded man waved a hand. "There's talk that a Nilfgaardian captured her and brought her safely out of the falling city at the time of the attack. But haven't heard anything more."
Geralt nodded in thought keeping his expression steady.
Now he was sure these men were not pursuing him, but… he rubbed burning eyes. That meant he had followed the wrong trail, or there was nothing to follow in the first place. These men were not trackers or hunters, but lazy drunkards looking to make an easy profit at the expense of unsuspecting travelers. Someone was out there, but he couldn't take the time to backtrack or move forward in search of another trail. It would take too long and already he had been gone longer than he should have.
Turning on his heel, he glanced back at the thugs and grinned keeping a light air. "If a lady is less than enthusiastic, clearly, you're doing something wrong."
Bearded man glanced up at him and scowled. Then he guffawed loudly, his laughter echoed through the trees. He took a long swig from a tankard. "Suppose you think you're the expert at pleasing the ladies, huh?" he chuckled again.
Geralt grinned. "Know a thing or two."
The younger man snickered. "Doubt it. Just look at him. All pale, hair white like my grandpa. And that ugly scar splitting his eye…" He pointed at his companion. "Bet he scares away the ladies."
Bearded man grimaced in a jesting manner. "Come on, admit it, stranger. Have a hard time gettin' in between shapely legs, do ya?"
Geralt shook his head, but did not comment. To think he had had sex for more years than these jerks have been alive, would blow their minds.
Young man laughed harder. "Bet his right hand gets more action!"
The two roared and drowned themselves in vodka, by the smell of it.
Their mocking tones did not ruffle him. Not reacting to often rude and insulting comments was a strength he prided himself on. Instead, he chuckled, letting them have the upper hand. "Well, what man's hand isn't a faithful companion? You know," he added as if he were letting them in on a secret, "women are moved by scars. And I've got plenty." He winked knowingly.
The men did not react. In fact, they did not pay any attention to him. Really, was his comment that bad? Men banter all the time...
Their glee had vanished, swallowed up in an unexpected tense moment. Faces pale, they gasped for breath as if all the air had disappeared from some unexplained abnormality. It was then the unnatural stillness settled around them. No, it was not his comment. The stillness was just that: unnatural. It sucked the air from the atmosphere as if a magical portal was about to appear in a swirling vortex before them. Yennefer opened portals frequently and he experienced the sensation often enough to recognize it, but no portal opened here, at least not one within a wide radius of this location.
Their faces paled even more as they struggled to breathe. The feeling only lasted a moment more and they relaxed, relieved, shaking their heads and taking deep breaths.
"What was that?" bearded man breathed. "Did you feel that?"
White puffs of air escaped Geralt's nostrils that hadn't before. It was cool and damp out, but not cold enough to see one's breath. Exhaling slowly from his mouth, a billowing white cloud evaporated shortly after it had escaped his lips. But even more puzzling, a chill sharp as a blade cut across his forehead then penetrated his bones with a deep excruciating ache. A shiver wracked his frame that rattled his teeth. The frigid cold was more intense than midwinter in the Blue Mountains. Was that even possible? What caused such a drastic change in temperature?
In answer, a roar in the distance, at first a low rumble from behind, swelled in intensity. Thunder again? But something about this was different, unusual. It was continuous, unlike a storm, yet more like a large herd of wild game trampling through the fields.
He glanced back at the brigands. Color had returned to their complexions and no longer labored to breathe. The clean-shaven thug rubbed his arms and leaned in closer to the fire. Then he glanced up at the sky and his eyes rounded, an expression of disbelief and fear evident on his face. Pointing up, the bearded man's gaze followed.
The pounding thunder of many hooves, much louder now, emanated from the sky somehow. Impossible. He must not be hearing correctly.
A bluish-white glow lit up the night. The moon had been obscured by storm clouds, so where was that light coming from?
"By the gods!" Bearded man staggered to his feet, never taking his eyes from the sky. "No…. HIDE! Get out of sight, NOW!"
Both men scrambled from the mucky ground and took off for the cover of the nearest trees, slipping and kicking up mud in haste.
Their snoring companion snorted and came to. Glancing around sleepily, he rubbed an eye. "Wha-what's goin' on?" he mumbled.
"Get out of sight!" Geralt barked, kicking dirt and mud over the flames smothering the pathetic campfire in an instant. A soft hiss and smoke billowed up from the logs.
Crouched in the shadows of the treeline, Geralt waited and watched, his fingers twitching for his blade, but he held off a moment longer. Peering up at the sky, he couldn't believe his eyes. What the hell?!
A cavalcade of spectral warriors flew toward them overhead, a trail of ice and snow swirled behind along with black tattered banners rippling in the wind. Amidst the fog, ice, like hailstones, plummeted to the ground. A few nailed him on the head. The roar swelled to deafening decibels, the ghostly army vanished and reappeared between the grey mists advocating their ghastly natures.
Fixing his gaze above, he studied them, knowing he had only a few moments to gain any information on this phenomenon before they passed from sight.
Warriors in black armor rode upon massive dark skeletal steeds. Their armor, both ancient and expertly crafted, was layered with frost. But, astonishingly, they were semi-transparent! The sky was visible through them.
Wraiths? None like he had ever seen.
Each warrior wore hideous masks, some resembled the human skull, that hid any signs of their likeness. Their sheer size struck Geralt. Even from this distance, these warriors were huge, much larger than the males of any race here in the northern kingdoms. Even the horses were immense, swift and strong.
For centuries Witchers had catalogued all the different species of creatures and monsters known in this world trapped here by the Conjunction of the Spheres. But what he witnessed now was not classified in brother Aldabert's Bestiary. Yet, somewhere in the deep recesses of his memory, an old legend came to mind. But now was not the time to dwell on it.
Drowsy man howled at the top of his lungs and Geralt's gaze snapped back to him astounded he hadn't sought shelter. The brigand's eyes fixed on the fields across the way and struggled to his feet as fast as he could.
Following the man's anxious and intense gaze, Geralt pushed aside a few branches for a clearer view. Movement in the fields caught his attention. The tall grass and bushes swayed to the ground in a single path as if some giant invisible foot trampled them. Small trees even toppled one in front of the other. Whatever it was, moved swiftly and headed in the direction of the camp.
What have we here?
With a metallic hiss, Geralt unsheathed his silver sword. Focusing his gaze and tightening his grip on the hilt, he waited for what would emerge.
He didn't wait long. A huge creature burst forth from the tall grass and hurtled towards them closing the gap between in a few heartbeats.
The brigand found his footing and took several hurried steps backwards, his face as white as the snow trailing behind the spectral beings. Howling, he turned and dashed for the trees.
By the gods, it was a demon on four legs! On closer inspection, it was no demon, but a ghostly hound of some sort with a dark spectral look about it and frost iced its hide. But it was no hound he had ever seen before. Its back legs bore a strong parallel to long lean thighs and calves of human males. Its front legs also resembled humanoid arms. Could it be that magic twisted humans into these... creatures? But aside of their appendages, human likeness ended. Its back boasted spiked ridges that toothed across from one side to the other like an ancient creature found only in long forgotten archaic tomes. The face bore no snout, but its teeth appeared deadly sharp.
The creature's speed was unbelievable for its size. It barrelled towards them just nearing the line of trees at the entrance to the camp, kicking up muddy tufts of grassy ground. It was upon him in a matter of seconds. Another bone chilling wave of mind-numbing cold permeated the area.
Jaws gaping revealed short, but razor-sharp teeth. It sniffed him and lunged.
With a sheer instinctual and automatic reaction, Geralt splayed his hand toward the damp ground. The Sign shot from his palm and the magical force field exploded around him in a shock wave of energy with such force it shook the trees, spattered muck in all directions, and derailed the hound from its path. It skidded backwards several yards. However, it recovered quickly and regained its footing. Shaking its head, it sprinted towards him again.
Geralt dove and rolled out of its path, the tip of his blade sliced its backside. A high-pitched metallic scrape pierced his ears. Damn, the hound was armored! Naturally or not, he couldn't quite tell and that changed his strategy.
A deep penetrating cold emanated from the beast! Was it made entirely of ice? Maybe that was what his blade scraped against...
Positioning himself with bent knees, in a fighting stance, he held his blade in a defensive diagonal parry bracing for the next contact. Goose flesh ran a race down his arms and legs and he stifled the urge to shiver.
The otherworldly foe turned toward him and bared its impressive set of fangs. Saliva dripped from their pointy edges, the stench of its breath as poignant as the chill.
Flexing his hand, he cast another Sign and a magically-charged shield glowed orange around him. The immediate protection from the cold was a relief and slowly, Geralt backed away, putting more space between them.
The hound hunkered down on its haunches, staring at him, ready to pounce. Geralt dug his heels into the soggy ground, lowered and widened his stance, preparing for impact. The hound leaped and collided with the shield. A sizzling crash jarred it backwards.
The impact jolted him even guarded by the magical energy. He breathed out heavily as the shield crackled and dissipated. The power used to strengthen it drained it, shortening the length of its use.
This was a formidable creature. He had not seen everything it could do, he was sure, but did not want to find did it come from? Was it even a natural beast or one created by magic?
Again, the hound recovered quickly and jumped him. Geralt sprang out of way, but not far enough that he couldn't reach it with his blade. He thrust at it, but the hound was ready and lurched at him. He jerked his sword up in a frantic defensive parry, but its brute force flung him backwards. He landed hard on his back smacking the back of his head on the ground shooting hammering jolts of pain through his skull. Gasping, he croaked out a groan, his breath gone.
Regaining his wits, he clenched his hand and about panicked. His palm was empty. Where was his sword?! The impact had forced the blade from his grasp.
The hound approached and stood over him, powerful legs on either side of his shoulders. Its huge body blocked everything from view. Its leg muscles, thick and sculpted, rippled in controlled strength. The creature expanded its chest, proving its superior size and strength. The frigid cold, as deep as the grave, brought more pain than a knife wound. The cold alone could kill.
Staring at him, it growled low in its throat. Bared fangs closed in on him not more than a hand-span away and globs of saliva slobbered onto his nose and chin. Grimacing, Geralt dared not move. The drool stank of dead fish and ran a cold trail down his neck. He could not stifle the shiver that overtook his frame this time.
Not daring to breathe, Geralt froze. Why did it not attempt to finish him off? Was the beast gloating? Was it that intelligent? It thinks it had the upper hand, but he still had a few arsenals up his sleeve. He wasn't ready to die now at the mercy of this thing.
His fingers crawled along the soaked ground searching for the cold hard steel of the sword's hilt, but it was too far out of reach. Twisting the fingers of his other hand into the form of a Sign, he was ready, but then a deep brass horn blared through the night.
The hound relaxed its fighting stance and looked to the horizon and back down at him again as if it was torn as to what to do.
So the horn summoned it... Would it finish him off, or do as it was commanded?
Making eye contact once again, it growled at him. Geralt held his breath, his fingers ready. Then it leaped over him, taking off for the treeline toward the city, spraying mud and ice over every inch of him.
At last he let out the breath he held. He rolled onto his stomach and rose to rest on one knee and retrieved his sword.
Several yards beyond the camp, the dark shape of a man bolted from the trees, scurrying away in a frenzy.
"NO!" Geralt hollered, and spat away the slimy dribble. "Stay in the trees!"
But the thug, the man who had slept through his conversation with Bearded man and the younger man, was too panicked to pay attention and did not listen. Within seconds, horrifying screeching and howling tore through the night as the beast gripped the man in its gapping sharp-toothed maw and disappeared further into the darkness.
"Shit!" Geralt cursed.
"What the-?" The other two men emerged from the trees looking to him before they came out in the open.
"It's all right." Geralt waved them out and wiped the slobber from his face and neck. "They're gone. For now." The grave-like chill also dissipated.
"Oh, Walt, you idiot! You've gone and got yourself killed," bearded man lamented gazing in the direction the hound had carried his companion.
Younger man approached Geralt, eyes wide and intense. "By the gods! What was that…thing?!"
Geralt glanced at the city skyline. "Clearly, the creature belonged to those wraith-like warriors."
Young man stepped toward him, then abruptly halted, a look of disgust on his face. "Ugh, man, you reek!"
If only he had a gold crown every time he heard that comment. Witchering was dirty, smelly work. "Thanks for your concern. I'm all right."
His gaze found the city's skyline again. The roaring grew distant when the ghostly cavalcade breached the city. He sucked in a breath at the realization. Their destination was Novigrad! All those unsuspecting people! What could they want? To overtake the north's largest and richest population? What then, the world?
He sheathed his blade and whistled for Roach. She cantered up to him from her hiding spot in the trees and snorted clouds of steam from her nostrils. Gripping the reins, he hauled himself up into the saddle.
Bearded man splayed his palms open before the horse, halting her. "Wait, Master. Where are you off in such a rush? Certainly not Novigrad!"
Although faint, piercing screams and hollers of city folk drifted across the valley. It sent shivers down his back. Thinking what the citizens faced now, he thought of Ciri. She needed him. He must get back to her... but… The city needed him too!
"All those people!" he breathed.
Bearded man grasped Roach's bridle. "There's nothing you can do to help, Master Witcher. Yes, I realize now who you are. No other man could have withstood a hound of the Wild Hunt like you did. Witcher or no, one man cannot save a city from this army."
The Wild Hunt…. Vaguely sounded familiar.
"They will return again on the next full moon."
Return? Next full moon…? They made frequent visits?
Geralt heaved a sigh. Bearded man was right, he couldn't possibly save a city by himself let alone against an army of spectral warriors. The legend… an ancient elven legend. What could they possibly want?
Roach danced nervously in place and Geralt gripped the reins taught and smoothed his palm down her neck soothing her as far as he could reach.
The distant cries faded to an eerie silence. The roaring thunder of many hooves quieted. The unnatural chill dissipated. All was still. Even the swirling mists ceased their otherworldly pulsations and hovered breathless over the soggy land as if waiting with baited breath for what might happen next.
The strange army had left. Now, there really was nothing he could do.
Younger man still stared at him with wide intense eyes. "What… what the hell are you…?"
"What am I?" Geralt chuckled without humor. "A ghostly army flies by and you ask me what I am?" he shook his head.
Bearded man did not even bother to reprimand younger dolt. "Witcher. Don't know what we woulda done had you not been here."
"Sorry about your comrade."
Bearded man sighed heavily. "He was a decent man, but his own foolishness got him killed."
"Make sure yours doesn't."
Geralt gazed towards the eastern horizon and the faintest line of gray low in the sky. He had better return to Ciri and Dandelion. He shook his head.
"Heed my advice," he offered. "Instead of taking advantage of innocent travelers, find real work. You'll respect yourselves more earning an honest living. Otherwise, you never know, a contract may be posted to bring you to justice and I… well, need the coin."
Bearded man swallowed, paling even more, and nodded.
Geralt tugged the reins turning Roach north. She was ready to spring forward, but he held her back a moment longer. "Best wait until daylight before you head back to the city. Won't be long."
The man nodded. "Thank you, Master."
As for who was hunting him, would have to wait. But he knew he was there trailing him expertly, almost as adeptly as Witchers hunt their contracts. He'd find him. At the right time, he'd stop him.
Grinding his teeth, he spurred Roach and flew like the ghostly visitors toward Yantra and Ciri, sick at the thought he had turned his back on an entire city.
